


Shieldmaiden

by starsandgraces



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2012-11-18
Packaged: 2017-11-19 00:17:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/566919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsandgraces/pseuds/starsandgraces
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When S.H.I.E.L.D. agents recover Captain America's body from the ocean, they discover that <i>she</i> isn't who they thought. Carol Danvers is ordered to find out if Stephanie Rogers is who she claims to be, but after Carol learns more about Steve and the truth about her past, the assignment becomes something else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shieldmaiden

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Marvel Bang 2012](http://marvel-bang.livejournal.com). [Art](http://zephre.livejournal.com/381372.html) is by the wonderful [zephre](http://zephre.livejournal.com%22%22), who put in a ton of hard work and captured things exactly as I saw them in my head, and [withthepilot](http://withthepilot.livejournal.com) provided a swift and able beta. Thank you to you both!

"...found him, sir, we..."

"...the ship's been located...a job getting into the thing..."

"...HYDRA vessel that Captain...in the North Atlantic...frozen solid..."

"...there's a body in the ship but it isn't Captain America..."

"...it's not possible...preliminary signs indicate there's a _heartbeat_ —"

***

"So what you're trying to tell me," Tony says slowly, "is that Captain America was a woman."

Nick Fury steeples his fingers and presses them to his lips. He might be praying. "What I am trying to tell you, Mr Stark, is that the body we recovered from the HYDRA plane believed to have been piloted by Captain America is that of a woman—"

"Dressed as Captain America," he interjects.

"As she is still unconscious and cannot verify her identity for us," Fury continues as if he hadn't spoken, "we can't be sure of anything yet. And as insightful as your father was, we don't have any tissue samples from the original Captain America so we can't use DNA to see if they are one and the same."

"Given that honesty and openness weren't exactly my father's greatest traits, I wouldn't be too sure about that. Want me to check the biofreezer at the mansion?"

Fury keeps ignoring him. "We don't have any evidence that anyone but Steve Rogers was Captain America. Until our Jane Doe wakes up and tells us otherwise, consider that unchanged."

"Because it seems far more likely that the first and apparently greatest American hero preferred to sit at home with his feet up and send women on his missions for him."

"Mr _Stark_ ," Fury says, in the way that means he's rapidly tiring of Tony.

"Okay, okay." Tony holds up his hands. "You've found someone and I won't pull the funding from the search crews before we figure out who she is and what information she has. Is that what you brought me here to say?"

"Essentially."

"I'm glad we cleared that up." Something occurs to him then. "If she _is_ , y'know, then I want some Stark doctors looking at her too. It might have been Abraham Erskine's formula, but it was Stark Industries tech that implemented it successfully. We need to analyse the results of our greatest wartime experiment."

Fury looks like he's about to object, or possibly throw him out of the building.

"I'm sure S.H.I.E.L.D. could use that funding somewhere else if you don't need it for search parties," Tony adds smoothly.

But before he gets an answer, there's a knock at the door and Rushman-Romanoff-whatever slips inside, completely ignoring Tony. She goes to Fury's side and murmurs something into his ear, which makes him sit up a little straighter.

"I think our discussion is over for the time being, Mr Stark," he says, standing up. "Something more urgent requires my attention."

"She's awake, isn't she?" Tony asks gleefully. "Can I come? I want to check out my investment."

"She isn't and you can't. Agent Romanoff, please escort Mr Stark out."

And he sweeps out of the room, all purpose and trenchcoat and drama.

"That's not an answer!" Tony calls at Fury's departing back. Then he says to Romanoff, "I have no idea what I'm supposed to call you any more."

"So don't." She smiles a little bit when she says it, though, like she knows something he doesn't.

Tony doesn't know if that makes it better or worse. It's a smile, but at the same time...

"Oh, and please tell Pepper I'd love to meet her for lunch at our usual place tomorrow," she adds.

 _Worse_ , he thinks. _Definitely worse_.

***

"Captain Steven Rogers, five-four-nine-eight-five-eight-seven-nought."

"Captain Rogers," Carol repeats. "My name is Major Carol Danvers, of the United States Air Force, formed in 1947, and S.H.I.E.L.D., which you would have known as the SSR. You are not our prisoner."

The woman sets her jaw and clenches her fists in the cuffs. Carol can see the tension in her upper arms from it. "Five-four-nine-eight-five-eight-seven-nought," she says again. It must be obvious to her that Carol knows she's a woman, but she seems intent on maintaining the charade that she is Steve Rogers.

In Carol's earpiece, Natasha says, "It's Steve Rogers' serial number. Whoever she is, she knows what she's doing."

Carol leans back in her seat and examines the woman in front of her carefully. Her hair is short and must have been cut like a man's once, but the ice only slowed her body down and it continued growing, leaving it ragged around her ears and falling into her eyes. Her jaw is defined and masculine, her mouth wide, and her nose long and slightly crooked. Her blue eyes are fierce under heavy eyebrows.

It's hard to tell while Rogers is seated, but Carol thinks she must top six feet when she's standing. She's broad in the shoulders, too. No wonder she passed as a man for so long. Carol wants to ask how she did it, but first she has to get Rogers to trust her.

"How did you come to be Captain America?" Carol asks.

This time, she doesn't even get a response.

"Captain, the war's been over for more than sixty years. We won. Germany paid her dues. You're living in a very different world now, and you're with allies. With friends. The SSR was reforged into S.H.I.E.L.D. by Howard Stark and a number of other people in an attempt to continue the work fighting HYDRA you began during the war."

Rogers reacts to the name "Stark" with a slight widening of her eyes, barely noticeable. But Carol notices.

"Howard never did get that flying car to work," she says casually. "The twenty-first century is probably nothing like you imagined it would be. No flying cars, no one living on the moon or Mars. We've been to one and sent probes to the other, but we didn't stick around. There was a space race during the Cold War—that was the US against Russia. Things got a little sticky for a while after the end of the Second World War."

"Don't overload her," Natasha says.

"She can take it," Carol replies. She watches for Rogers' reaction to the knowledge that Carol is in contact with someone outside the room.

She doesn't get one. Carol is certain that Rogers is paying attention very closely, and more certain that she's too smart and too in control to allow another slip. She takes out her earpiece and lays it on the table so she won't be able to hear Natasha's admonishment for what she's about to do.

"Why don't we take a walk?" she says to Rogers. "I'll have to leave the cuffs on until you believe what I'm saying, but there'll be no guards. Just you and me." Carol looks up at the camera. "And Agent Romanoff, if she feels like meeting us by the Central Park entrance."

Carol would definitely feel more comfortable if Natasha were with them. She can always call Jessica for backup if Rogers tries to fight her way out—and with the training she must have had, Carol knows that escape will be a high priority if she can't get Rogers to _believe_ —but Jessica would have to make her way across the city to get to them. Carol needs someone right there to minimise any possible damage.

She releases Rogers' ankles from the restraints and carefully guides her to her feet, not quite laying a hand on her biceps.

"We're in New York?" Rogers asks quietly. It's the first thing she's offered and the first positive sign Carol's had.

She nods. "Beneath it. It's not the New York you remember, though. We'll check out a few locations so you can see I'm telling the truth about what year it is. The last thing I'm going to do is lie to you, Captain. Ultimately I'd like us to work together as equals and that won't happen if we can't trust each another."

Rogers absorbs that silently, but she follows Carol's urging and they make their way quickly along the labyrinthine corridors of the S.H.I.E.L.D. base, sloping gradually upwards to the surface.

They pass several agents and more guards, all of whom glance sideways at the handcuffs around Rogers' wrists, but no one says a word. Carol is certain they all know exactly who she's escorting through the base—and that she shouldn't be—so she's grateful that nobody tries to stop her. It's not as if she was specifically ordered _not_ to take Rogers outside. She has carte blanche to do whatever needs to be done to get Rogers up to date and cooperative, not to mention finding out her story, if at all possible.

The writer in Carol knows there must be a very interesting story indeed.

Natasha stands by the entrance, arms crossed and no expression at all on her face. Carol wants to say, _It's the right thing to do_ , but she doesn't think she should in front of Rogers. Instead, she says, "Captain Rogers, this is Agent Romanoff."

"Forgive me if I don't shake your hand," Rogers says without a trace of irony in her voice.

"Welcome back, Captain," Natasha says.

Rogers just nods cautiously at her in reply.

The park was probably the best place they could have started Rogers off in the twenty-first century. It's not too crowded but there are enough people for it to be obvious that things are different. Rogers returns to her sullen silence, clasping her fingers together as she watches the passersby with suspicion.

It's clear that she doesn't believe Carol, even as they walk by people talking animatedly on cells and bluetooth headsets, or pushing strollers that look like they were developed by Carol's former coworkers at NASA. The fashion and hairstyles must be hugely different as well. She can't quite understand how Rogers is taking it all as calmly as she is, though Rogers is looking around slowly, absorbing everthing she sees.

Then Carol realises that Rogers must think this is all some kind of set-up, designed to trick her into believing that she really has woken up seventy years in her future. She's looking around because she's planning an escape. Carol grips Rogers' biceps firmly.

"You're probably thinking about running," she says quietly. "I would recommend you don't do that, Captain. Agent Romanoff and I are both more than capable of preventing you, though neither one of us wants to hurt you. I've brought you out here as a favour. Please don't forget that."

It sounds a little more like a threat than she wanted it to be.

They walk towards the edge of the park, though Carol has no particular destination in mind. She realises they're heading for the Museum of Natural History at about the same time that Rogers stops dead in her tracks.

"I recognise this place," she says haltingly. "What did you do to it?"

Neither woman answers her and Rogers draws the handcuffs tight between her wrists.

"Yes," she says quietly. "You changed it or you built a replica to make me think it changed." For a moment it seems like she might say more, but then she closes her mouth and relaxes her arms.

"The only thing that changed the museum is time," says Carol.

"If I were faking a future I'd make it more interesting than this," Natasha says. "And with fewer homeless people." She nods her head in the direction of a bum sitting on a bench, huddled and unkempt. Rogers stares for a moment then turns back to them with accusation in her eyes.

"The future is better but still not perfect," she continues. "Men have ideas and some work, but most fall through in the end. It's the way of things. We're not trying to sell you a utopia, Cap, because there isn't one to sell, any more than there was before the war. America is trying to claw its way out of another great depression."

 _What happened to not overwhelming her_? Carol thinks. Then again, maybe they're long past that point. The closer they get to the museum, the more people are around, and Rogers is beginning to look uncomfortable. The first time someone walks past talking animatedly on a bluetooth, she flinches away very slightly.

"You used to come here, didn't you?" she asks, trying to distract Rogers from the crowd.

"You knew that already. I want to see somewhere else." And then she adds, "Please." As if she's incapable of being impolite even to the people she thinks are her enemies. Maybe she's just that desperate to get away from here.

"I can think of a few places. If we take the subway, we—"

"Pardon me, ma'am, but I'd like to pick the location," Rogers interrupts, stroking the metal of one cuff with her thumb. The movement seems reflexive, almost anxious. "I need to be certain."

After a brief, silent consultation with Natasha, Carol says, "I think we can manage that."

Rogers names a cross street in Brooklyn, one that Carol doesn't think she's ever even heard of; there's nothing in the official Captain America history that mentions it, which is no doubt why she chose it. They can't have tampered with it if they didn't know about it. Carol hopes whatever Rogers expects to see is long gone, and then feels cruel for the thought.

They take the subway, which by all rights should be more than enough to convince Rogers that she's in a whole new century, particularly when a bunch of kids dressed outlandishly even for Brooklyn—probably art students, Carol assumes—get on. Natasha casually drapes her jacket across Rogers' lap, hiding the handcuffs from view, and Rogers shoots her a grateful look. Natasha inclines her head very slightly in response.

They walk the last few blocks through Brooklyn, Natasha a few paces ahead and Carol next to Rogers, who glances around with every step. No one says anything as they make their way past groups of people wearing plaid and skinny jeans, anonymous in their individuality.

At the cross street, Rogers stops abruptly, looking around for something that she can't seem to find. She breaks away from Natasha and Carol, confusion written across her face. Whatever she was expecting, it clearly wasn't this.

She darts down an alley that's mostly blocked by a dumpster, disappearing from view. When they catch up with her, Rogers is half-pushing, half-dragging the dumpster away from the wall and trying to get to something behind it.

"Captain _Rogers_ ," Carol says.

"I need to see," she says. "I have to see this." And then she slumps like a puppet with cut strings, dropping to her knees and touching the wall.

Natasha is at her side immediately. "Captain, what's wrong?" Carol doesn't hear the reply but she sees Natasha touch the wall too, the same brick. "Major Danvers, come here," she says, helping Rogers back to her feet with ease.

There's nothing to see at first. The wall is old and worn with nothing special about it that draws her eye. She runs her fingers over the brickwork, trying to find the same one that interested Rogers and Natasha. Carol's fingernails catch in an indentation and she leans closer. The letters are faint, eroded by time and weather, but just legible enough.

They say: _Bucky + Stevie_.

Rogers turns to Carol, holds out her arms and says quietly, "Ma'am. I'm willing to cooperate."

***

"Most of the story is exactly the same as the one you know. It didn't seem sensible to change too many details, because then it'd be too easy for someone to spot something that didn't add up and find out the truth. And the Army sure didn't want that to happen, for someone from the press to find out that their golden boy was actually a dame. I was never sickly or a man, but I was Steve Rogers from Brooklyn. Stephanie Rogers," she corrects herself. "But always Steve to the people who mattered."

"How did it happen?" Carol asks. "Why choose you, a woman?"

"Doctor Erskine said it was because of how women are put together, our chromosomes. The serum didn't work properly on people with an X and a Y chromosome, like most men, but it did on women with two X chromosomes." She furrows her brow. "It's more stable, it's more... if something doesn't take properly on one, it can be compensated for on the other."

Rogers looks across at Carol when she doesn't say anything. "I wanted to help. I don't know how he found me but he did, and he told me he could give me a chance to help. Somehow he knew it was what I wanted more than anything."

"You could have helped at home," she suggests.

"I had to do more," Rogers says insistently. "Bucky. He was on the front. He's—he was my best friend, my brother."

"James Buchanan?"

"Yes. He enlisted and I wanted to follow him so bad, one time I even dressed up in some of his old clothes and tried. I was always kind of tall and big across the shoulders, so I thought maybe I'd put one past them." She smiles, a little shy and a little sad. "They realised pretty quick, though. And then after the serum I got to dress up as a man some more, only this time no one was looking between my legs to see if I could fight with the rest of them.

"They never meant for me to fight at all but they couldn't stop me once it got out that I'd gone into enemy territory by myself and rescued soldiers who'd been given up for dead. All they could do was maintain the illusion—to the general public—that Captain America was a man. I guess it was easy. Who would suspect something like that?"

"What about when you _were_ fighting? What about your brothers-in-arms?"

"No one cared. Bucky always knew and I couldn't keep it from the others. No offence, ma'am, but you're not Army; you probably don't know what it's like even if you've seen action. We were all living in each other's pockets. Even if I didn't want the Howling Commandos to know, they'd have found out. But I did," Rogers adds, almost angrily. "They were trusting me with their lives and they needed to know the truth."

Carol is a little taken aback by her vehemence. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to touch a nerve," she says. "I meant more the people you were fighting than your fellow soldiers."

Rogers sighs quietly and pushes her ragged hair out of her face. She toys with the glass of water on the table in front of her for a while before picking it up and taking a long drink.

"I don't think they knew," she says eventually. "There were always rumours, when I wasn't careful enough. There were Nazi and HYDRA prisoners who said they'd been attacked by a _Walküre_ , a valkyrie. If they thought it was going to get out, the Army spread the word that they'd been gassed or concussed and didn't know what they were seeing."

"They buried everything about you," Carol says. "None of the SSR records we still have mention any of the things you're telling me now. They didn't even want their allies to know the truth."

"Why can't you just talk to Howard Stark? He knows everything about me; he's more of the reason than I am for Doctor Erskine's formula being a success. And you said he formed your organisation."

"I'm sorry, Captain," she says, picking her words carefully. "Howard Stark was killed in a car accident some twenty years ago. He was a very secretive man and most of his papers are coded. If there _is_ anything about you in them, we haven't found it yet."

Rogers' head droops towards the table, her fingers clenching. "Perhaps I can help," she says, so softly that Carol has to lean in to make it out. "My brain's better and faster now. I can pick up on all kinds of patterns and codes that other people can't. Thanks to Howard."

"That would be a great service to S.H.I.E.L.D. and to your country, Rogers."

"Is anyone left or am I the only one?"

"I don't know. But I can find out for you." Impulsively, Carol reaches out and takes both of Rogers' hands, earning a look of surprise in response. "I'm sorry for your loss," she says.

***

"You son of a bitch," Tony mutters when JARVIS tells him that there is indeed a sample in his father's biofreezer that dates from the early 1940s. Not only that; there are two. One labelled "S. Rogers 1942, pre-formula" and the second "S. Rogers 1942, post-formula".

"Sir?" The accent always makes JARVIS sound vaguely offended, but this time Tony thinks it's intentional.

"Not you, JARVIS. I need those samples right away. Yesterday would be good if you can manage it."

"It seems unlikely, sir. What would you like done with them?"

Tony spins two fingers around while his mouth catches up with his brain. "Uh, prep them for transport. Don't have them defrosted, though; there could be tissue degradation or damage and I don't have the facilities here to deal with it. They're my in with Fury and I'm pretty sure at least one of them is completely irreplaceable."

"I'll be careful with them both, then, just in case."

"When did I program you to be so sassy, JARVIS? Or, no, has Pepper been poking around in your code again? I know you two are bonding."

"I couldn't possibly say, sir," his unfazeable AI replies.

***

S.H.I.E.L.D. scientists test the samples extensively, of course; as if Tony could fake something like that. He takes it as a compliment. Finally, Fury emerges from the lab with a blonde woman who seems vaguely familiar to Tony, though he can't place her.

"Do you believe me yet?" he asks. He's been sitting around outside the lab for at least five hours now. The armour is more comfortable than S.H.I.E.L.D. seating; at least in that his butt doesn't keep falling asleep. "I'm a very important person who probably has some very important things to do, I assume."

"Then why are you still here?" Fury says. He closes the door firmly behind him, like Tony's going to try and break in or something.

"Because Ms Potts let me out of school early today. Come on, Fury, you can't leave me hanging here. Is it her? Is she him?"

Fury doesn't look like he wants to say anything at all. "The initial DNA results agree with the conclusions we drew from debriefing Captain Rogers," he says eventually. "It appears she is Captain America."

Tony can't hold back a whoop. "I knew it! Do I get to meet her now?"

"That's up to Rogers," says the woman. "She has a lot to catch up on, as you might imagine."

"Frankly, I think she'd do better reading your file than being subjected to you in person," Fury adds, "but it isn't my choice."

"Rude," Tony murmurs. "I don't think we've been introduced. Tony Stark." He extends his hand and a dazzling smile to the woman.

"Major Carol Danvers," she replies, shaking it with some reluctance.

"I knew I recognised you from somewhere," he says, snapping his fingers. "Disgraced astronaut, right?"

"Most people aren't quite that blunt," Carol says, "but that's the gist of it."

"Good for you. Nothing wrong with a little disgrace."

"Most people would disagree with you," Fury points out.

"Most people," Tony says, "are idiots. I try _very_ hard not to hold that against them. Can you make a case for me, Major? I'd really like to talk to her. Captain Rogers is an old friend of the family."

They both look at him silently.

"I'm going to go," he says. "Very busy man. You have my number."

***

Steve dreams of Peggy: of her Dorothy Gray smile, her neat curls, her soft breasts, her thighs... but never her face. When she's awake she has the photo, but asleep the ice has stolen Peggy from her in more ways than one. She wakes angry and confused, sweat soaking the sheets in the small room S.H.I.E.L.D. has assigned her. It's a room like any other, a bed like any other she's slept in since she joined the Army, and somehow that makes her feel Peggy's absence more keenly.

Peggy is dead. She died in England earlier in the year, according to the papers Steve was given to update herself on her friends and colleagues. Even if she hadn't, Steve doesn't know if Peggy would have wanted to see her. Peggy probably thought she was dead. Peggy mourned her and now she's going to mourn Peggy, and goddamn, if that isn't the most ridiculous thing.

She mourns for everyone and for herself, for the life she was meant to have and didn't.

Howard has a son now. Had a son, before he died. He's older than Steve is, which makes her laugh until she cries when she reads the file and she doesn't know why. Apparently he's eager to meet her—Stark Industries funded the search that found her. If this Tony Stark thinks he has some claim over her because of that, he's going to have to think again. She reads up on him and doesn't like what she finds, even if he _is_ a "superhero".

Her days always go the same way. She gets up, eats breakfast, submits to a battery of tests and examinations, then goes to her mandatory therapy session, after which she returns to the gym to beat the tar out of as many punching bags as they'll let her requisition. Neither the therapy nor the punching help her that much.

Major Danvers offers regularly to take her outside, to help her adjust to the future, but Steve wants nothing to do with it. It may be her reality but that doesn't mean she has to accept it as easily as that.

Steve doesn't know what to make of Danvers. Maybe it _would_ be easier to get a read on her outside the facility. She and Romanoff both seem friendly enough, though it's hard to trust them when they both know so much about Steve and she knows so little about them, beyond what she's read in their personnel files. Much of Romanoff's file has been expunged, leaving her even more of a mystery than Danvers.

The truth is, Steve is desperately homesick and lonely. She always enjoyed her own company, but to go from spending all day and every day surrounded by people to spending long hours without seeing anyone's face but her own is more of a shock than she's willing to admit, even to the therapist.

Realising that is what makes her admit it to the therapist.

"You need to get out and see the world," Doctor Haines says, "or at least the country. Once you've found your place, things will be easier."

"Avoiding it is easier," Steve says frankly.

The doctor shakes her head. "No. Avoiding it makes it easier to pretend nothing has changed, but it has and if you can't accept that, you'll find it very difficult to be happy. You need to acknowledge what happened to you, Captain, and only then will you be able to move on."

Steve spends several extra hours punching things while she thinks about it.

That night, Director Fury asks her to save the world.

***

There is still war in the future, Steve learned in Manhattan. Or to be more specific, there are still wars for _her_ to fight, where the person she became in 1942 is necessary. She slips back into the role of leader during the battle because it's second nature, and only after it's over does she think, _Maybe I don't want to do this any more_.

It's true and it's not true. Steve knows she has to stand up for what is right, for the people who can't stand up for themselves. But Doctor Haines was right. She doesn't know her place in this world yet and until she does, she doesn't know if she's on the right side. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s lies about the Tesseract-powered weapons prove that.

She leaves New York on the same day that Thor takes Loki back to Asgard for the punishment he's earned. She can't bring herself to stay in the facility another day longer, with nothing but therapy and new-found guilt to pile on top of the old. America is as big as it ever was and the road is calling.

***

It's been over a month since anyone has heard from Captain Rogers when Carol's phone rings some time after midnight. She groans and pries her arm out from beneath Chewie, who miaows in complaint and jumps off the bed.

"Danvers."

"Ma'am?"

"Cap? Is that you?" She sits up, drawing a hand over her face. "Where have you been?"

"I'm in Wyoming."

"Wy— _why_?"

"It just kind of happened, ma'am."

Carol groans softly. She's not really awake enough for this and her next question comes out a little more belligerently than she intended. "Why are you calling _me_?"

"I remembered your telephone number from when I read your file. I guess I just..." Rogers trails off. From the other end of the line, Carol can hear the quiet chatter of conversation and music. It sounds like she's in a diner, probably using a payphone. She knows Rogers didn't take her cell because they've been trying to track her with it and having no luck. "I didn't know who else I could talk to," she says eventually.

"What's the matter?"

"The Hulk is my fault."

Of all the things Rogers could have said, that was the last one that Carol expected. She doesn't say anything, because really. What is there to say to that?

"Hello?" Rogers says. "Did I run out of change?" Her voice goes distant for a moment, presumably while she checks.

"I'm here. You probably just set off a million alerts by saying that over the phone, you know."

"I didn't even think—people are listening to this call?" She sounds even more exhausted than Carol feels.

"To every call, but don't worry about it. Maybe you should come back to New York if this is something you really want to discuss." _Because I'm not going to Wyoming_ remains unspoken. Carol reaches for her laptop and boots it up, logging into the S.H.I.E.L.D. server as she talks. "I can send a jet for you, but you'll have to go to Cheyenne. I don't know where you are in Wyoming."

"It's not far," Rogers says. "Can they take my bike?"

"I don't see why not." Chewie jumps back onto the bed and Carol pets her absentmindedly before typing something else, then shuts her laptop down again. "If you can be at the airport by oh six hundred, there'll be a plane waiting for you."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Next time you run away, Steve, just don't go to fucking Wyoming. That'll be thanks enough."

Rogers laughs a little. "It's not so bad. I saw Yellowstone."

"I'm sure it was majestic. You can tell me all about it tomorrow when you're back in town." She stifles a yawn. "Goodnight, Cap."

"Goodnight, ma'am. I'm sorry for waking you."

Carol hangs up the phone and rolls over, pulling a pillow over her head.

***

At Rogers' request, Carol picks her up at a small airfield outside the city the next day. The motorbike will be transported to the Central Park S.H.I.E.L.D. facility by another agent, but when Carol suggests going there too, Rogers shakes her head. Her hair's grown surprisingly in the time she's been away, down past her ears and into a shaggy sort of bob. It suits her, even though it needs styling.

"Can we go somewhere else? A cafe or something. I don't want to go back there right now. I mean, if that's okay with you, ma'am." She presses her palms to her thighs.

"Sure," Carol says. "But that means you're going to have to tell me what you meant by that comment on the phone last night. Also, fasten your seatbelt or you can find your own ride into town."

"I wanted to tell you last night," Rogers says, buckling up obediently. "I didn't realise S.H.I.E.L.D. was listening."

Carol doesn't think this is the time to tell her that S.H.I.E.L.D. was by no means the only organisation listening. The Patriot Act will have to wait. "Someone's usually listening these days," she says instead.

"I don't know that I like the sound of that," Rogers replies.

"It's a way of protecting our freedom."

"And the Hulk?"

"A phrase on a very long list of things that the US government is interested in gathering information on. You read Doctor Banner's file; you know he was in hiding from them—and other organisations."

"Yeah, I read the file," Rogers says. She falls silent for the rest of the journey.

Carol picks the first cafe they come to that has parking spots, just so she doesn't have to suffocate in the uncomfortable atmostphere of the car, and they sit at a table outside. She orders a coffee and Rogers orders half the menu.

"They didn't feed you on the jet?" Carol asks when the plates of food start arriving.

"They did, ma'am, but I need to eat more than most people. I mean to pay for myself if that's what you're worried about."

"No, I just wondered if I could steal some of your fries," Carol says, earning a small smile from her companion. She takes one. "Now, do you want to explain what you said on the phone last night?"

Rogers shakes her head. "I need to eat first. Please."

Carol waves a hand in agreement, sipping her coffee with some relief. Watching Rogers eat is an interesting experience. She's quick but measured, moving through the plates methodically. A side, a main, something to drink, then back to the start. She doesn't waste any time. Carol wants to know how the army could possibly have fed her enough on wartime rations.

"It's my fault," Rogers says eventually, picking at a bread roll.

"I don't understand how it can be."

"Doctor Erskine never wrote down the entire formula, the entire process that turned me into what I am," she says. "He was afraid someone would use it for the wrong purposes, like Schmidt did."

"I know," Carol says. "That's why Doctor Banner was looking for it."

"But Banner didn't know everything he needed. Maybe he got the serum right and maybe he used the right vita-rays, but it doesn't matter, because... he didn't know what I told you before."

She racks her brain for what Rogers is referring to. "Wait. The genetic component of the formula; the fact that the recipient needs to be a woman?"

"I shouldn't have let them cover it up," she whispers. The anguish on her face is plain to see, and Carol wants to reach across the table and hug her. "If I'd spoken out and told the truth instead of going along with it, none of it would have happened to him. He'd be living a normal life right now, not running and hiding."

"Steve," she says. "Do you really think they'd have let you say a word of the truth without finding some way to discredit you? And even if he'd known, he's a scientist. He'd have tried to find a way around it and the same thing might have happened anyway, or he could have even died. That's not your fault, that's just the way scientists _are_. God knows I've worked with enough of them."

Rogers curls her fingers around her fork, stabbing a tomato neatly. "I don't know," she says. "What if he blames me?"

"I really don't think he will. He's a grown man and he knows what happened was the result of his choices, not anybody else's. Maybe you should speak to him. He's still here in New York, you know, with Tony Stark."

"Maybe." Evasive. "He stayed?"

"You've met Stark. You know he has a way about him. I think he wants to talk to you about staying as well."

"When I met him I couldn't believe he was related to Howard," Rogers says. "I see it now, though. Howard must have been proud of him."

"Must have been," she echoes. Carol's heard the rumours but it's not her place to tell Rogers about them. They're only rumours, after all.

They both fall silent, though unlike in the car, this time it's less awkward and more companiable. After a while, Rogers says, "You called me Steve again before, not 'Rogers' or 'Captain'."

"I'm sorry, I—"

"Don't be, it's... it's nice. I feel like I'm part of something."

"A team? The Avengers?"

She laughs uncertainly. "Maybe a friendship?"

Carol takes another handful of Rogers' fries, mostly cold by now, popping one into her mouth before she answers. "You'd better call me Carol instead of 'Major', then. Seems fairer that way."

***

Steve doesn't want to stay in a S.H.I.E.L.D. facility any more, but she doesn't know where to begin looking for someplace to live in this new world. She asks Carol for help and—she isn't quite sure how it happened—ends up agreeing to stay with her until she can find an apartment of her own.

"I have a spare room. Well, I have a study, but there's a futon in there."

"I don't know what that is," Steve says. Every time she thinks she's got a handle on the twenty-first century, someone talks about something else that wasn't around seventy years ago like she should know what it is.

"Oh, a futon? It's a couch that folds out into a bed." Carol smiles apologetically. "It's not that comfortable long-term, but it's yours as long as you need it."

"It won't be long," she promises. "I just need somewhere to get my feet back under me and then I'll get out of your way again."

Steve doesn't have much in the way of belongings. She never did, so the move into Carol's apartment is quick and easy. All it really entails is carrying a bag of clothes in and folding its contents into the two drawers Carol provided.

"Anything you need in the apartment is fine to use, as long as you replace it if you finish it," Carol says. "I'll show you where the nearest store is. And don't worry about feeding Chewie; she acts like she's starving but she really isn't."

"Chewie?"

"My cat. Sort of my cat. She's named after—you know what? I'll just show you the movies at some point."

"I used to be allergic to cats," Steve says, a little inanely.

Carol worries at her lower lip with her teeth. "Okay," she says. "If you keep the door shut, she won't be able to get into your room."

"I don't know if I'm still allergic," she says quickly. They didn't get off to the best start but Carol's been so good to her since then that Steve doesn't want to throw her hospitality back in her face. "I don't get sick like I used to any more, so maybe the serum took away the allergies, too."

"If it didn't, you can buy allergy pills at CVS. And I'll try to keep her away from you."

It turns out that they didn't have to worry. Steve's allergies are long gone, and she begins to enjoy being able to pet a cat without worrying that she'll start wheezing or getting hives. It's a relief since she spends the first week in Carol's apartment _staying_ in the apartment. There's something called "Netflix" which is just about the best thing she can imagine. Steve loses several days to rewatching some of her old favourite pictures, and catching up on newer ones that look interesting or were recommended to her by Carol. She just can't catch up on seventy years of popular culture quickly enough, especially the science fiction serials of the fifties and sixties. It's the kind of thing she dreamed about as a kid.

"I don't think you look anything like him," she says to Chewie during one of the confusingly numbered Star Wars movies.

Chewie headbutts Steve's eye and makes a noise that does kind of sound like her namesake.

After a while, though, Carol puts her foot down. "Don't take this the wrong way, but how do you expect to find an apartment if you don't leave mine? Have you even looked?"

"Not exactly," Steve says. "Everything seems so expensive and I don't know what I'm doing, really."

"Stark can—"

"Oh, no."

"He can _help_ , Steve. He can probably get you a better deal on an apartment just by standing silently next to you, being a Stark."

"He won't stand silently."

"No," Carol agrees, "but that doesn't make it a bad idea."

***

The new identity Steve was given by S.H.I.E.L.D. is virtually her own, with the slight exception that now she was born in 1986 and is the granddaughter of her male former self. It gives her a chance to start over in some ways.

She gets her GED, for one thing. She doesn't need to but the idea of S.H.I.E.L.D. faking a qualification for her benefit doesn't sit right, and she wants to study art. It surprises Steve to realise how much she's missed being around other artists. She signs up for a class at a community college in Brooklyn.

Thanks to the Battle of Manhattan, this Stephanie Rogers has no secret identity. If anyone wants to know who the new Captain America running around the city is, all they have to do is look on the internet. Most people in her class don't recognise her, but some do. Some of them even want autographs, just like when she used to perform.

Before long, things settle down and Steve can get to the business of drawing.

Much of what she learns isn't new to her, though she's grateful for the refresher, and once they move into life drawing Steve is in her element. She fills sketchbook after sketchbook with models, with S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, with Carol, Natasha, Tony, Bruce... every part of her new life is fair game. She just doesn't show anyone the classified things.

After class she looks at apartments; sometimes by herself, sometimes with Tony. They don't really see eye to eye on what each of them considers a necessity. When Steve says she's more than happy to rent, Tony looks horrified.

"Renting is for suckers when you have enough money to straight up buy a property," he says, "which you _have_ , courtesy of whatever nefarious accounts S.H.I.E.L.D. kept in your name and then had to hand over when it turned out you weren't dead any more."

"I don't think that's quite how it happened."

"Whatever. I'll concede on Brooklyn but not this. You can buy a whole damn building and be a landlady for all I care, but you're going to buy _something_."

"Fine," Steve mutters. "What about this one?" She flicks a listing across the screen of her tablet and watches it appear on Tony's. She doesn't think she's ever going to get tired of neat tricks like that.

"It's a fifth-floor walk up, Rogers. I think you can afford someplace with an elevator."

"I have working legs and I don't want to take an apartment with an elevator from someone who really needs it."

Tony groans loudly. "I can't believe you're for real. Seriously? That's what you're basing your apartment choices on? Whether or not you'll inconvenience some little old lady who might be looking into buying an apartment that is definitely overpriced for a building without an elevator?"

"It's one of the things."

"Stop it. Or move into Stark Tower, since that's pretty much the only building in the entire city where you're not potentially displacing someone else. Since, you know, I built a floor for you and only you."

"I didn't ask you to do that."

"No," Tony says, flicking a listing across to her. "But I did anyway. Just in case."

"This one looks good," she replies. Even though it has an elevator and the price makes Steve feel a little bit nauseated. She can handle the inflation since the forties most of the time, but when it involves this much money she has to take a moment to readjust. "We should go see it."

It's not good, in the end, but that has more to do with the cockroach infestation than the elevator.

The nights are the hardest part for Steve. The insomnia and bad dreams she suffered from initially return, leaving her to lie wide awake and sweating at three o'clock in the morning, despite the growing chill in the air. One night it all gets too much for Steve and she grabs her pillow, heading for Carol's bedroom. She doesn't know why, really, but maybe it's just that she doesn't want to be alone any more. She spent months sleeping with company. She needs that back.

"Carol," Steve murmurs, touching her shoulder lightly. "Carol."

Carol groans and comes awake, blinking at Steve in the dim light. "What's wrong?"

"Can I sleep with you? Please?"

"Only if you don't snore," Carol says, shifting over to make room for her.

Steve slips into the bed. "Peggy never complained," she says. Then she freezes, fingers clenched in the comforter. She hasn't talked about Peggy with anyone in this time, let alone mentioned something that could hint at their relationship being more than professional.

But Carol doesn't say anything; she just rolls over and goes back to sleep. With the warmth of another person at her back and the rhythmic sounds of Carol's breathing, Steve finally falls into a deep, dreamless sleep.

***

They're humanoid but featureless, mannequins that move like spiders. It's not right, the way they move.

"What _are_ these things?!" Steve shouts, socking one of them in the jaw. Her hand sinks slightly into its face and she jerks away from it, cutting off the hand that reaches for her with the edge of her shield.

"Beats me," Natasha calls back. She shocks the one attacking her with some inbuilt part of her suit and it convulses, its face twisting in a rictus, but it doesn't stop coming. Natasha lets it come, its own bodyweight beheading it with the length of wire she wields. It slumps to the ground, twitching. "At least we know not having Thor with us isn't a real disadvantage."

Clint drops to the ground behind them. "Ladies, I'm all out of explosives. Mind if I join you?"

"You don't have to ask permission for us to save you, Hawkeye," Natasha replies.

"Where's the Hulk?" Steve asks.

"Last time I had eyes on, he was ripping them to shreds a couple blocks from here."

She nods, satisfied, and touches her comm. "Iron Man, have you found whoever's controlling these things yet?"

" _He's running. Why do they always run_?"

"Well, we'd sure appreciate it if you could catch him sometime soon."

" _Don't judge my methods_."

Distantly, the Hulk roars a warning and everything gets a whole lot worse.

The new _things_ have more limbs than they ought to. They're faster, more aggressive and they spit something that explodes on contact with any solid surface. It peels the paint right off Steve's shield each time she blocks with it. What they really need now is ranged weaponry; anything to get them out of reach of the blasts. With Tony temporarily out of the picture, all they have left is the Hulk and he can't be everywhere at once.

Without speaking, the three of them position themselves back to back and use the scant few seconds they have to prepare for the onslaught.

Steve's movements become automatic, her body instinctively following the patterns that she's practised in training until they became second nature. Time blurs, slow and fast all at once as she turns her defense into an attack whenever she can.

Clint grunts and she feels him drop away. Steve only turns for a second to make sure nothing's on him, leaving them all vulnerable, and to help him back to his feet, but when she turns back the thing in front of her has already spat a dose of explosive liquid at her. She sees it coming very clearly and knows just as clearly that she won't be able to block it in time.

Her vision goes green.

The sound of the Hulk's bellow hits Steve. As she was expecting burning pain, it's almost refreshing.

"Big guy, I could kiss you," she says in relief. The Hulk grunts and rips the nearest attacker from limb to limb.

" _Hey, so. I caught him_."

"Get him to turn them off!"

" _Slight problem with that_ ," Tony says. " _Turns out they have a self-destruct mechanism which I accidentally triggered when I destroyed the remote control. You might want to get out of there_."

"Hulk, _get out of here_!" Steve yells as she, Clint and Natasha take off as fast as they can.

There's a subway station just a few more yards away and the three of them dive headfirst down the steps. Their suits take the brunt of it but Steve still gets the wind knocked out of her. The street turns into a fireball, sucking up what little oxygen Steve can still get into her lungs and roaring a hundred times louder than the Hulk could even dream of, if he even dreams.

Somehow, they make it through. And this time, they don't have to clear up the bodies.

They take a truck back to a S.H.I.E.L.D. facility, battered and bloody and not just a little deafened, with their captured foe in a second vehicle. Steve's not too keen on that part after everything that happened on the Helicarrier, but as two members of their team are agents and the Avengers is still technically a S.H.I.E.L.D. initiative, they're being brought in for a debriefing.

Tony, having his own built-in transport, opted out.

Clint is asleep, or resting his eyes, his head on pillowed on Natasha's shoulder. Natasha stares across the truck, her lips moving slightly as she—presumably—goes over her mission report in her head. Steve's seen stares like that before from fellow soldiers. The only difference with Natasha is she shakes it off every time and just keeps going.

Bruce is hunched in the corner by himself. Steve doesn't know if he can control the transformation better now or if something else was different, because this time he didn't pass out after he changed back from the Hulk. He still looks exhausted, though, and mostly she doesn't want to bother him.

At the same time, Steve has to say something. She slides along the bench until she's close enough to talk to him over the noise of the engine.

"Doctor Banner—Bruce—can I talk to you for a moment?"

"Go ahead."

"You saved me today. There's no way I'd have gotten my shield around in time to completely block that blast." She pushes her palms down her thighs and grips her knees. "Thank you."

"That wasn't me," he says, looking across at Steve. "The other guy does what he wants, mainly."

"Well, I owe him one."

"Be sure to let him know next time you see him."

"What happened to you; the Hulk," she says. Bruce winces slightly. "I wanted to apologise for my part in it. I understand if you blame me."

"Why would I blame you?"

"Why wouldn't you blame me?" Steve counters. "I was complicit; I hid details that would have prevented what happened."

He shakes his head. "I made my own mistakes. I can't change the past, as much as I might want to."

"I guess I don't understand how you can be so calm about it," she says. "Ever since I woke up here I've wanted someone to blame."

"You know I'm not calm," Bruce says with a small smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"You're a good man, calm or not," she says finally. For a moment, Steve considers telling him that she read his research and from what she knows, he was on the right track, but she stops herself. It won't help; it might even hurt. "I'm glad you stuck around."

"Heh," he says, eyes downturned.

Steve takes the hint and leaves him in peace.

She's meticulous during her debrief, even though she wants nothing more than to go back to Carol's apartment and collapse in the shower with the hot water running. It seems to help her sore muscles heal that little bit faster.

Of course, in the end, Steve doesn't _collapse_. She washes the dried sweat out of her hair, the bloody dust off her body, and the feel of the _things_ out of her memory. Then she allows herself three luxurious minutes of doing nothing but standing under the spray, the temperature dial cranked up as far as it'll go.

When she gets out, Steve dresses in a t-shirt that might just be as old as she is and a pair of sweatpants. She can hear Carol moving around in the kitchen and finds her putting together a sandwich. There are already two more sitting on the table. Steve's mouth starts watering.

Carol turns around and sees her there. "Hey," she says with a smile.

"I talked with Bruce."

"How did that go?"

"I don't know," she says. Her stomach rumbles loudly at the smell of pastrami.

"Do you feel any better?" Carol pushes one of the sandwiches across the table and follows it with a can of soda.

"I don't know. Some." Steve bites into the sandwich gratefully, making an inadvertant noise of pleasure as she devours it rapidly. Then she washes it down with the soda. "Uhn. How did you know?"

"I know how much you eat on a regular day, Steve. You've been kicking ass for hours now, so I figured you'd need a little more than usual. I ordered pizza while you were in the shower."

Something in Steve's stomach flips. She pushes it down and tells herself it must just be the hunger. "Pepperoni?" she asks hopefully.

"Obviously."

Steve finishes off the sandwiches and they adjourn to the couch for the ten minutes it takes the pizza to arrive. Steve beats Carol to the door—she may have an unfair advantage, even tired—and pays.

"It was meant to be my treat," Carol says with a laugh.

"I owe you for letting me stay here."

They sit back down with Netflix and a pizza box each, and for the first time Steve notices that Carol can eat almost as much as she can. Since Carol didn't have sandwiches before their dinner, maybe it doesn't count. There's still a slice left at the end for Steve to eat.

They watch a space movie that Steve instantly forgets the title of and Carol mercilessly tears apart every time she spots a flaw. Apparently, it has a lot of inaccuracies. Steve hasn't ever asked Carol about going into space. She knows that Carol's service with NASA ended suddenly and badly, and it would be rude to press her. In fact, Carol ragging the movie is the only time Steve's heard her say anything about space.

When it ends, Steve can't hold back her yawn. "I feel like I could sleep for—" She cuts herself off abruptly. "Well. Eight hours, maybe."

"I don't have anything else to do tonight. We might as well go to bed."

"I would love that," Steve says with deep sincerity. They've long given up the pretence that Steve sleeps on the futon; now she just goes to bed in Carol's room to begin with. She's going to miss it when she moves out, she realises as she settles in, their backs close but not quite touching.

***

Over time, Steve opens up about her past. She tells Carol stories about Bucky and how they grew up together like brother and sister, how she saved him and how she couldn't. Carol knows those last two, of course. There are stories about Doctor Erskine and the Howling Commandos, the dancers who Steve toured the US with and soldiers she fought with just once, whose names she remembers even now.

She draws a lot of pictures that blend the kind of future people in the thirties and forties predicted with the actual future that Steve now lives in. There's an air of sadness about most of them; in fact, there's an air of sadness about almost everything Steve draws, whether it's from the past or the present.

The only person Steve never mentions, in words or in images, is Peggy Carter.

There's no instantly apparent reason for it. By all accounts, they got along well—were close, even—and in the end, that's what makes Carol suspect.

"You were in love with Peggy Carter, weren't you?" she says one evening.

Steve tenses. "I don't know what you mean."

"Come off it, Steve. I know you two worked together and you've told me about everyone else you worked with, even if it was only for five minutes. The only time you've mentioned her is when we were in bed together that first night. So, were you? In love with her?"

"I'm not sick," Steve says immediately. "There's nothing wrong with me."

"Of course there's nothing wrong with you. It's not a disease," Carol says. She frowns. "Fuck, it never _was_ , whatever people used to think."

"I loved her. I still do. And she loved me back, and we were happy. I never saw how it could be wrong," she continues, as if Carol hadn't said anything at all.

"That's okay," Carol says softly.

"We were meant to have our whole lives together."

Carol stays quiet, thinking about all the turns her life has taken that she never dreamed could happen, that she believed were impossible or for other people. There are so many things she'd change if she could live it over again, and some she wouldn't change at all.

"Life isn't fair, Steve, and you know that. Loving someone or something doesn't change that. I can't tell you how much I love flying, but I haven't flown a plane in three years. I never thought that would happen." She pushes her fingers through her hair, sighing. "Sorry. I didn't mean for that to sound as preachy as it did."

"That's okay," Steve says quietly. "I just..." She trails off, raising her hands helplessly.

"You're allowed to mourn her. And the other stuff, the things that didn't happen, people mourn things like that all the time. You just can't live in the past."

"I guess that's great advice for someone who didn't really live in 'the past'." She actually does air quotes.

Carol can't help it: she laughs. It's such a modern gesture, one that Steve surely picked up from Tony Stark, and it seems so out of place coming from her. Steve colours, her lips pressing together into a thin line.

"I'm sorry," Carol says quickly. "I wasn't laughing at you, Steve."

"It sure seemed like you were."

It seems like the most natural thing in the world to wrap her arms around Steve, who resists at first but slowly relaxes into the hug, eventually lifting her arms to return it. She tucks her face into Carol's shoulder and holds onto her tightly but carefully.

"I'm sorry," Carol says again. This time, Steve doesn't reply with words but Carol feels her breath hitch, and Steve squeezes her a little.

"I found an apartment," she says finally, her nose against Carol's hairline. "I was going to tell you tonight."

Steve must have felt _her_ breath hitch at that. "I'll miss you," she says. She means _don't go_ , but maybe it's for the best. "You'll have to come round for pizza sometimes. It won't be the same without you stealing the last slice."

"Maybe you can work with the Avengers somehow. I could ask if you can be assigned to debrief us after missions, or... something. There's got to be a way."

The only thing that stopped Carol working with the Avengers before was herself and her unwillingness to accept the circumstances surrounding her dismissal from NASA. "There's probably something I should tell you," she says. She leans back, looks Steve in the eye and smiles slightly.

***

Steve's new apartment is small and strangely lonely, though she supposes she had to figure out how to live alone at some point. It seems like the done thing in the twenty-first century. Most of her classmates seem impressed and jealous that she can afford an apartment without a roommate, so Steve wonders if she should feel luckier than she does.

The truth of it is, she misses Carol more than she thought she would. Steve misses her in a way that scares her a little bit, because it reminds her of how she felt about Peggy. She doesn't think she's ready to love someone again. And Carol has been such a good friend to her since she woke up in this strange world that the last thing Steve wants is to alienate her.

She calls Natasha. "If you have romantic feelings for a friend, should you tell them? Maybe ask them out on a date?"

"Does this person feel the same way?"

"I'm not sure," Steve says. "I think maybe they could. We're pretty good pals and sh—they seem like they might be okay with that kind of thing."

Natasha grunts.

"Are you fighting someone?"

"Only Clint," she says. Steve concentrates and she can hear the blows, and what sounds like a body hitting a crash mat. "Listen, I'm not great at relationships so you might want to take this with a pinch of salt, but what's the worst that can happen if you do say something?"

"The end of our friendship."

"Sad, but these things happen. Take a risk, Steve. Faint heart never won fair lady. I have to go, okay? Clint got one of my knives."

"Thank you, goodbye," Steve says hurriedly before Natasha hangs up. She suspects Natasha knows exactly who she's talking about. If anyone would, it'd be her. Part of her thinks calling Tony would have been a better idea, since he's generally blind to the finer details of interpersonal relationships. He'd have given her good advice without knowing or even trying to guess who she was talking about.

The person Steve really wants to call for advice is Carol. She doesn't, for obvious reasons. She doesn't quite avoid her but, for a few weeks, she doesn't go out of her way to contact her either. It's not difficult when she's so busy with classes and the Avengers. But really, Steve needs to decide what she's going to do. She still hasn't come to a conclusion when Carol turns up at her new apartment unannounced.

"Hi," she says. "I hope you're not busy. I brought you a housewarming gift." She holds up a plant pot.

"It's a plant," she says, redundantly. "Thank you."

Carol looks a bit embarrassed. "I'm not great at gifts."

"No, it's lovely. Thank you," Steve repeats, taking the pot from her. "I'll put it in the kitchen. You should come in and look around, but it's not as nice as your apartment."

"It looks great to me," Carol says, stepping inside and shrugging off her coat. "I think you have more pressing issues than interior decoration anyway. Fighting crime, saving the world, all that jazz."

"How are you? How's Chewie?"

"She's fine. Her sadness about you leaving was balanced out by getting her half of the bed back. I'm fine as well," she adds. "I expect you heard that S.H.I.E.L.D. has me liaising with the government to make sure the Avengers has permission to operate on US soil. Apparently you need that now you're mainstream."

"I did hear that." Steve sets the plant on the counter by the window and makes Carol a cup of coffee without asking. "It's the right thing to do. I don't want to tread on anyone's toes."

"You wouldn't," she says, laying her hand on Steve's shoulder. Her stomach does a somersault. "How are you?"

"Busy. Colonel Fury has us doing a lot of press events to prove that the Avengers is a good thing, which really means just me and Tony. I'm sure you can guess why." She passes Carol the coffee and motions her through to the living room. "It's kinda like the old days, when I was still selling war bonds."

They sit on the couch and make small talk while Steve tries to get up the nerve to say something to Carol about how she feels. When she was staying with Carol, they never talked about dating or relationships, so Steve isn't even sure if Carol's interested in women. Of course, up until the day she told Carol she was going to move out, Steve didn't know that women could be open about loving other women these days.

"You know, I really miss living with you," she says finally, the only way she can think of starting the conversation. "It was the first time I really felt like I fit in here as me instead of Captain America."

"I miss you too," Carol says, setting her empty mug down. "It's weird without you around the apartment. I framed some of the art you gave me but it doesn't look the same when you're not around."

"That doesn't make any sense," she says with a small flush of pleasure at the words.

"I know it doesn't. Just... god, Steve, I really liked having you with me. Everything feels different now you're not there."

"I like you. I, well. I should have asked you to come by before now, because I wanted to talk to you. I wanted to ask." Steve stops and swallows. Her mouth is dry all of a sudden. "I wanted to ask if you might like to catch a movie sometime. Go on a date. With me."

"Stevie," says Carol. She touches the side of Steve's face gently, sitting very close.

"No one's ever called me that but Bucky," Steve says for lack of a better reply. It's funny how she can walk into a fight without a single nerve, but sitting here with Carol, her hands are shaking.

"I'm sorry, I won't do it again." She leans in, all of her body language welcoming Steve.

"No, it's okay," she says quietly. "I missed it." And she kisses Carol a little awkwardly, because they haven't even been out on a date together yet. Her phone squawks, the Avengers' alert that Tony programmed into it calling her to action.

" _No_ ," Carol says with vehement disappointment. "I mean... sorry, you should get that."

Steve reads the message. "I need to get halfway across the city now, with backup if I can get some. Something big's going on."

"I'll give you a lift," she says, "and I think we can manage backup. We'll need to stop off at my place first, though."

***

"Where's Cap with that backup?" Tony asks JARVIS.

"I don't currently have a location," the AI replies. "There is someone approaching our position, however, but I can't identify them yet."

"That's just great," he says, preparing to blast whoever it is out of the sky just in case.

"Hold your fire!" shouts the woman swinging— _swinging_?—into view. She alights neatly on the roof near him. "Captain America sent me."

"You should have told me about your sex change, Spidey," Tony calls back. "I'd have sent a muffin basket. Or a bra."

"Wrong Spider," she says. "Cap told me you were the man to talk to. Where do you need me?"

"Hawkeye's cornered down on Canal Street. He'd appreciate a hand."

"On it." She launches herself off the building and vanishes around the nearest corner.

Tony watches her go. "This city has an infestation."

"The Captain appears to be coming in fast at four o'clock," JARVIS says.

Tony turns, expecting to see Steve on the ground, but she isn't there.

"Look up, sir."

There's a blur of blue and red, but that isn't all. There's black and yellow as well, which has to be someone carrying Steve, since the last time Tony saw her she couldn't fly. They come to a halt across the street from Tony, hovering steadily in the air. The person with Steve—a woman—is wearing what's almost a standard S.H.I.E.L.D. jumpsuit, apart from the flowing red belt and a large yellow lightning bolt insignia across her chest. The domino mask probably isn't regulation either.

"I told you I could get you here faster than the quinjet," the masked woman says.

"What the hell," Tony says. JARVIS zooms in on her face without him even needing to ask, runs facial recognition and— "Is that _Danvers_?"

"You guessed it, Stark."

Steve smiles slowly and says, "Turns out she's some kinda marvel."


End file.
